


one luminary clock against the sky

by nex_et_nox



Category: Norse Religion & Lore, Supernatural, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-04 08:07:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1078580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nex_et_nox/pseuds/nex_et_nox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re going to have an interesting life, kiddo,” Loki tells his otherself. The child gurgles and closes his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>(Loki isn't called Sky-Walker for no reason, and once he figures out how to cross the folds between the universes, he knows he has gone further than any before him have -- other than the angels, but he doesn't think of them, because he hasn't been Gabriel in a long time. And then he comes across little Loki Odinson.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the sky is dark and the hills are white

When Gabriel leaves Heaven, he leaves with his Grace intact. So technically, he does not Fall – not like his brother, and not like those that followed Sammael down into the dark. He simply…leaves. He finds himself on top of a mountain, ethereal and Vessel-less and lonely.

He does not leave there for a long time.

No one comes looking for him.

 

Later, Gabriel wanders. He looks over all the lands his Father created and wonders, but it is a tired wonder; there is not much anymore that excites him, that pulls him in, that makes him _feel_.

Sometimes he thinks about what it would be like, if he returned to Heaven, or if he had never left – or if he had Fallen with the Morningstar.

Sometimes, he thinks he would rather be dead than anything else.

 

There’s only so much that a sentient multi-dimensional waveform (no longer of celestial intent) can do, so when Gabriel stumbles across a man who could be his Vessel, bleeding out in the dirt, he hesitates and then offers. The man grins at him, holding his guts in his stomach with one hand, and makes Gabriel promise one thing.

_“Live. You are too bright to be so darkened by grief.”_

The man gives consent with his dying breath, and by the time Gabriel can repair the damage, the man’s soul is already being taken by a Reaper. He turns and winks at Gabriel before grasping the Reaper’s hand tightly, and then they are both gone.

Gabriel’s head is very quiet and very empty.

 

Humans are strange creatures, stranger than he thought when he had not interacted with them. It is only as he does that he realizes how fragile and easily confused they are.

He tries to act as his Vessel had sworn him to do, but he is so tired and his only purpose – his only purpose Before, he has no purpose now – is to act as the Messenger. But his Father is gone and Gabriel has left Heaven, and there is little holding him to life. Except his promise. So he ignores everything he was and focuses on what he is, and he does something different: he lies.

Years later, he has fallen into something of a pattern; he has grown lax and actually begun to enjoy himself. Then they come for him and call him Trickster and take him to their lord, and when Odin All-Father asks his name he thinks of the man whose body he wears and names himself Loki.

 

Loki is a better brother than Gabriel was. Gabriel left and never came back. Odin always smiles and sets out a feast when his wayward bloodbrother returns from another of his long wanderings; he listens when the Trickster tells tales of far off lands, gently inquires if anything from the stories Loki spins for him are true, and Loki merely laughs and tells him to figure it out. Odin must parse the truth from the lies for himself, else what is Loki’s purpose?

The two do not speak of the future, of knowledge that Odin traded his eye for – they are both well aware of what has been foretold by the Norns, and simply live as brothers. What will come will come, but “will” is not now, and now is peace. As much peace as Loki can manage, at any rate, with chaos chasing its way through his veins. In the meantime Gabriel sleeps in a corner of Loki’s mind as the god throws himself gleefully at all the worlds in a half-remembered promise to a dying man.

 

It is a simple matter to discover world-walking, and then Loki strides where he wishes and laughs when they gift him the name Sky-Walker. It is less so simple to discover the ways that the universe can fold over itself and then step into the next fold over. Once, Gabriel knew how to do this; now, Loki discovers this on his own, and Gabriel merely peeks out once they’re across before drifting back to sleep.

The taste of this world is different from his own; crisp and cold and terribly new. The humans, who in his universe know him as Silvertongue and Liesmith, gaze at him with fear and do not know who he is, so he grants them his names and tells them of his worlds, of his life and his kin and kind, and they believe.

Belief, Loki finds, is just as powerful in this universe as it is in his own.

 

He steps between universes often, simply because he finds it fun and interesting, and regales the humans with new tales each time he comes. They huddle around all travelers who pass by and listen to their stories, for their ancestors have learned well that many who come through are gods in disguise – or at least one Trickster.

Loki doesn’t know why, but he doesn’t tell his Odin of the ways between the universes. He holds that secret close to his chest and weaves together threads of narrative into a cloth that blocks his bloodbrother from the truth; Heimdallr, he believes, is not so fooled, but the Watcher lets it be.

 

There are more universes out there, but the first one he stumbled into…aah, that is his favourite one. And so it is to that one that he returns to most. But truly, he does love to explore, so he goes further.

Most worlds have his people in some form; there are, of course, exceptions, but even there he tends to tell his tales to the people of the realms he finds himself on, and if they don’t believe, then at least they do sit down and listen to him. There are worlds with aliens or extra dimensions or no angels –

(Gabriel winces a little, far back in Loki’s head, and huddles down into himself.)

There are so many paths, and so many Lokis, and the Liesmith laughs and laughs and laughs.

 

In one universe, there are false gods and little creatures who call their race, not their home, Asgard. Loki takes delight in shadowing his mad little otherself, and occasionally pops in on his otherbrother. They are small and dying.

The false gods themselves are rather boring; sociopathic and backstabbing. Loki is unimpressed. He has seen this before, thousands of time. The only thing interesting about them is their ability to raise the dead; he previously, foolishly, thought such power only the domain of death gods. But even that cannot interest him for long, because this universe is flat and boring and has no magic in it.

Before he leaves, he creates a mirror and shatters it, spreading pieces everywhere, but especially on Midgard. If any brave humans – or foolish ones, for that matter – wish to follow in the footsteps of Loki Most-Cunning, then all they must do is touch the mirror to make it to another reality.

(There is, of course, a catch to its uses, but that is for the users to figure out; it would not be a trick from the Sly One if there were not some drawback to its workings.)

 

The universes have different realms of the dead, worlds to live on, gods to worship – Loki is fascinated by it all. But after every trip, he returns to the first universe he jumped to, and watches these little humans, or spreads more stories, or quietly mingles among them and basks in the warmth. Then he returns to his home and explores its realms, always searching and learning and enjoying himself.

Sometimes he thinks about universes with his otherselves. He burns with curiosity to see if his first jump holds another otherself of his, or if it is empty of Loki Liesmith and Odin Spear-Shaker and Thor Thunderer.

He burns, until the day he doesn’t.

 

Loki has been caught up in the politics of his home worlds – caught up, in that he is cheerfully tangling the delicate strings of negotiations and conversations between realms and peoples – and so it is a time before he returns to the secondary universe. He appears in one of the villages he has spent his most time and plans on making his way to the nearest tavern. Odin had actually been truly vexed rather than amused at his mischief making in this case, and so Loki saw fit to stay out of his bloodbrother’s way for the time being.

The village is gone around him. Everything is ice and slag . It is not natural ice, either, but ice that is imbued with such magic that Loki can feel it down to his bones; and the slag is another kind of war magic, something that tastes almost familiar to Loki, tastes like blood beneath his tongue –

“My lord Loki,” comes a faded whisper. Loki turns; he had not disguised himself for this journey, and so the old woman who kneels behind him, who had seen him many a time as he visited this village, is a woman who is familiar to him.

There is a question on the tip of his tongue – _What has happened here?_ – but the woman is keening her gratefulness before he can open his mouth.

“Thank you, my lord,” she says fervently, “You warned the rest of Asgard to the dangers of the armies of Jötunheimr. They came upon us a fortnight ago, but your bloodbrother fought them back. The gods have saved us.”

There is such deep worship in her eyes  and countenance that Loki cannot help but smile. He snaps his fingers and the woman gasps as he grants her a lovely red and orange flower – it is nasturtium. Loki had met Coyote and Konira Wirakocha in his travels; they introduced him to their peoples and customs and lands, and he had done the same in return.

“Some say this flower has a meaning,” he said to the woman. “They say it means ‘victory in battle.’” She does not meet his gaze, only stares down at the flower held carefully in her hands. Loki places an acorn gently onto her upturned palms, above the flower. “And this, of course, is ‘life.’” She trembles lightly as he crouches before her. “Bergljót Gyrsdottir, you are faithful to your gods. You are blessed.”

He stands. Bergljót continues to stare at the flower and acorn in her hands, and Loki leaves, lightened by the knowledge that there is a version of his brother here, at the very least.

Loki Sky-Walker intends to find him.

 

It is not very difficult to find Odin’s otherself. All Loki has to do is follow the taste of the magic that he picked up at Bergljót’s village. The trail leads across the stars into another realm – this universe’s Jötunheimr, he imagines – and he almost thinks he can feel the battle raging from his place on Midgard. But he wants a better vantage point, and so he searches for the shadow-paths of this universe, which he has used before in his reality, but never in this one. They are mostly in the same place and largely the same in shape and function, and where they are not Loki makes do. He is not called Sky-Walker with such awe for no reason.

Loki peers with interest at this world of ice and giants, so different from the one that he knows, and he watches for a long while, hidden from view. Of course, he is not one to stay out of things, and so he jumps into the battle, sowing confusion and chaos where he goes. He doesn’t fight for one side or the other – this is his otherself’s people (probably) and also his otherbrother’s people that are fighting – but instead casts illusions, cracks the ground, laughs wildly at the chaos of war.

The Æsir are winning, it is obvious. He still doesn’t help his otherself’s people. His business is with Midgard, not with the affairs of his otherself’s and otherbrother’s peoples. However, he does concede to his curiosity and picks his way through the battlefield to find his otherbrother. Loki wants to know what this Odin looks like, so that he can compare him to his own Odin.

 

By the time that Loki has found the other-Odin, the battle is nearing to a close. Battles of gods are not small things, but often they do not draw on for very long times. Other-Odin stands over the fallen form of a Jötunn, who is wearing a crown of ice upon his head, and gestures to his men to pick up the blue box on the pedestal behind the crowned one. In the box, Loki can sense the ice magic that struck the village. He is vexed that such a thing happened in the first place, but he is undecided on whether he should seek revenge. Logically, the one that he should take vengeance upon lies in front of him, but he hesitates, and that is when he notices it – another sense of magic nearby, different from any of the Æsir or Jötnar nearby.

Hidden from sight, Loki brushes past the other-Odin and misses the faint tightening of the king’s remaining eye; the Trickster walks deep into the temple, struck by the tiny echo of magic against his own powers. And there, in the back of the temple, is a small Jötunn baby barely cleaned up from birth, crying to itself.

It is Loki’s otherself.

Other-Odin comes up behind Loki as he stares curiously down at his otherself, and Loki barely moves himself out of the way in time. He’s not sure if he wants to meet this other-Odin; he hadn’t made a grand gesture of getting to know any of the other other-Odins of the universes he’d visited.

Other-Odin bends over other-Loki, and other-Loki looks up at him. His cries slowly become hiccups instead, and other-Odin looks very thoughtful and – for a moment – almost as old as Loki’s Odin does. A hand reaches down to pick up other-Loki, and there’s something in other-Loki’s magic that Loki recognizes as something that is part of his own; other-Loki’s magic simply needs to be kickstarted. Magic is never too early to learn.

Loki nudges at other-Loki’s magic, and as other-Odin picks the Jötunn baby up, he _shifts_. Blue skin to pink, red eyes to green, and a faint dusting of black hair on the top of his head. This may be another Odin, but Loki can practically _see_ his otherbrother flip through all his decisions and resignedly realize that there is only one thing to do.

“You’re going to have an interesting life, kiddo,” Loki tells his otherself. The child gurgles and closes his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spot the quasi-stealth crossover with Stargate.


	2. as the storm-king speeds from the north to-night

Loki is busy for a little while after that; the timelines between the two universes are only off by a couple of years, and so when he returns home, he only gets to enjoy it for a little while before aggravating Europeans start converting Norse believers to Christianity. Loki nearly hurts himself from the strength of his disbelieving eye rolls. Honestly. Christians.

(Somewhere deep inside, Gabriel looks out a little, but Loki’s annoyed enough that he doesn’t really notice, and Gabriel just laughs a little and is reluctantly interested at how the humans have accepted this belief system and made it their own. He’s willing to bet they got a lot wrong.)

When he finally makes it back to the other universe, he’s unsurprised to note that the same conversion process has been occurring in this universe as well. These universes are actually quite similar and he is idly curious as to where the divergence point was, but then he shrugs his shoulders and makes his way to this universe’s Asgard, which is very bright and shiny.

He takes great care in getting past Heimdallr, who is the one person that seems to be capable of catching him a good half of the time. But here, Heimdallr is very small and young, and so it is all too easy to slip past the Watcher. There is another Watcher here, teaching Heimdallr the ways, but Loki knows with a surety to his core that Heimdallr is the best Watcher there ever is or could be, and no others could surpass him. Which means that no one catches Loki now.

He wanders down hallways, simply exploring. Amusingly enough, many of the gods he has known for centuries are mere children in this universe, and they all seem to congregate around other-Thor…and his little brother, other-Loki. Other-Loki, who seems to be a very cheerful toddler and likes to shoot out tiny green sparks from his fingertips, but doesn’t shift his form at all. Looking closer, Loki can see that his form is gently locked in place, probably to make sure he didn’t slip up somehow and accidentally turn back into a tiny Jötunn child.

Loki pats other-Loki on the head gently. Other-Loki looks straight through the weave of magic protecting the Liesmith from detection and simply _beams_ at him.

“Well,” Loki says. “With that response, I suppose I’ll have to visit you from time to time, little otherself.”

Other-Loki giggles.

 

Loki likes to visit his otherself at night, after Frigga and the nursemaid have retired. Little Loki doesn’t mind; when he is very young, he giggles all the time when Loki Sly One appears in his rooms, and when he gets older, he still laughs, but understands that it is a game, a trick, so there is a glint of mischief in his eyes when he pulls back the covers to greet Loki.

Other-Loki isn’t told the same stories that Loki tells to humans, to his bloodbrother, but there are threads of such stories interspersed in the ones he tells, and he promises to tell his otherself the other tales, the darker tales, when he is old enough. Mostly, Loki teaches. Loki had thrown himself into being a Trickster, had mostly just made it up as he went along (though certainly he had consulted with other Tricksters once he was established as one), but it was terribly fun teaching a little one all the tricks of the trade. And other-Loki picked it up; he was born a Trickster, just waiting to find out the moves and countermoves.

Of course, as his own personal tricks, sometimes Loki doesn’t tell other-Loki everything that he needs to know to pull off a trick. It’s a part of the learning process, of being able to figure out how a trick will be best pulled off, of noticing if there are any missing details, as he so virtuously proclaims whenever his little otherself fumes at being caught. And, he adds, learning what to do when you get caught is a part of that, too.

Little Loki smiles reluctantly up at him, effortlessly recalling the (many) stories that Loki has told him about what happens when a Trickster screws up. Tricks are fun, but those on the receiving end aren’t always so amused. Sometimes, there are consequences.

 

Surprisingly, looking after his little otherself is rather like raising a child – or at least being a doting uncle. Other-Frigga and other-Odin are not bad parents, but Loki finds it all too easy to slip into the mindset of a parent when he visits little Loki. His otherself is just so small and so eager to learn and looks up at Loki the way that Loki’s own children did, once upon a time. He catches himself a few times telling some of the same bedtime stories to little Loki as he did his little ones, and something tightens in his chest before he makes himself let it go. What will come will come.

In Loki’s universe, they are all waiting for Ragnarök.

In this one, he sketches out specific runic sequences, important when using ritualistic magic, for little Loki to memorize and laughs at the story that the child tells him about his most recent prank.

 

“What do I call you?” other-Loki asks one day. He is working on bespelling a flower not to wilt; he wants to give it as a gift to Frigga. It is magic that his mother taught him, not something that he learned from Loki.

“Loki,” Loki says, bemused.

“But _I’m_ Loki,” the little Trickster scowls. Little Loki.

“We are both Loki,” Loki says, and then leans forward and tweaks his otherself’s nose. “And besides, I was Loki long before you were, so if anything, _I_ am the one who has claim to the name.” Which is technically unfair, given that he belongs to another universe and so the name Loki does belong to the other-Loki. At least in this universe.

Little Loki frowns a little.

“Just think of the mayhem we could cause,” Loki says, winking at him. “Two Lokis.”

The frown gentles out slightly, and little Loki refocuses on the flower held in his hands. Loki settles back in his seat and enjoys the sight of the moon shining high overhead.

 

“You are more often gone than you are here these days, Loki,” Odin says to him, standing on the Bifröst near Heimdallr as Loki returns from a visit with his daughter and, before that, with his otherself. The All-Father’s arms are crossed and his single eye is narrowed at the Trickster.

“Nothing to concern yourself with, brother-mine,” Loki sings, slapping him cheerfully on the shoulder. “I am simply off traveling. There is so much to see, to do.”

“Evidently,” Odin says drily. A pause, then he continues with a slightly suspicious tone. “I did not think there was so much out there in the worlds. Surely you have explored it all over the centuries?”

“There are always more places to go,” Loki tells him, and it’s not a truth, because it’s not _these_ worlds that he’s spent so much time exploring recently, but it’s not a lie either. “And I find that humans are, for the most part, quite interesting to play with.”

Odin snorts. “As you say.” And he lets the matter drop, but Loki does not think for a moment that Odin has truly given up his curiosity.

 

“Where are you from?” little Loki asks another day.

“Asgard,” Loki replies.

“No you’re not,” little Loki says. He doesn’t even look up from what he’s doing, molding clay into little shapes that he brings to life with a flick of his fingers. He’s gaining a kind of aloofness to his bearing that Loki worries about. “No one here knows you, and there are no records of you either.”

Loki blinks and then, reluctantly, smiles.

But he doesn’t answer.

_Figure that out for yourself, little one._

 

Long ago, when little Loki still accepted Loki’s visits as games and stayed awake at night for him to appear, he asked if he could introduce Loki to his older brother.

“That’s not the best idea,” Loki hedged.

Little Loki pulled insistently on Loki’s hand. “Thor can keep secrets,” he promised. “and he likes games, and that’s what you do, you always play with me, but Thor would want to meet you too—”

“Loki,” Loki said gently, kneeling down and holding his little otherself softly around the shoulders. “I am here only for you. Thor probably wouldn’t be so accepting of me – he hasn’t known me like you have, for as long as you have – and he might slip up around your parents, accidentally tell them about me. I want to stay with you, but your parents might not agree. They could send me away. Is that what you want?”

Tears welled in little Loki’s eyes and he looked utterly torn. Then, he shook his head.

“Hey, hey, kiddo,” Loki murmured, drawing him into a hug. “I’m sorry, I really am. Maybe when you’re older we can tell him, huh?”

Little Loki nodded tearfully into his chest, and Loki felt awful for denying this child, but above all Loki loved his freedom, and he was already bound to one Odin All-Father; if he were forced to meet with this other-Odin, he was sure that he would not have nearly as much ability to cross through realms and universes as he currently did. Or, at the very least, other-Odin would forbid him from visiting with his little otherself.

And unfortunately, Loki had become quite attached to him.

 

Loki debates for a long time on whether to tell his otherself about his heritage. He’s used ice enough in front of little Loki (not that he's so little anymore, but he is very young), even though his natural magical inclination is actually towards fire, and he’s slipped many references about the land of his birth into casual conversation. Surely he’s picked up that Loki originally hails from Jötunheimr, though he is of Asgard now? And hopefully his lack of reaction means that he would be open to similar news about his _own_ heritage. 

Though, Loki admits, accepting that someone you know is of another realm and accepting that _you_ are someone born of another realm – when you’ve lived all your life believing you are Æsir – are two very different things.

(Not to mention that little Loki is just shy of five hundred, and still very sheltered. He is still learning of the worlds and growing into gangly limbs, and at such an impressionable age, he is frighteningly easy to break, and Loki  _never_ wants that to happen.)

He resolves to wait until little Loki’s at least seven hundred. Little Loki is very smart, but there’s a certain type of maturity that needs to be developed before dealing with something such as this, and even seven hundred may be too young. He'll wait and see. 

 

“I think you would quite like him,” Loki confides to Hel. He hasn’t visited her in a while and so they are enjoying a nice sit-down meal in her realm; there is a sharp pain in his breast at the thought that none of her siblings can join them. They have not been together as a family for centuries. “He is very cute.”

“How narcissistic, Mother,” Hel says, smiling gently at him.

“He doesn’t look like me!” Loki protests. "He has dark hair and green eyes and Thor is his _brother_ , can you imagine? And anyway, Hel, he is his own person and quite different from me in the ways that matter.”

Hel hums a little. “But very similar to you in many ways nonetheless, I should think.”

“Well,” Loki says, conceding the point. “We _are_ both Tricksters.”

“You mustn’t tell Odin All-Father,” Hel says, mock-seriously. “I do believe his heart may give out from the stress of two of you, and should I try to usher the Spear-Shaker into my realm I do believe that he would become quite vexed.”

Loki laughs. “You know that I have been keeping it secret for several centuries now. I believe I can keep it secret for several more, at the very least. There are many secrets that I hold; I am quite good at carrying them.”

Hel takes a deep pull of mead and looks long and hard at him over her cup. “We all know that, Mother.”

 

Frigga of Asgard, wife of Odin, mother of Thor and Loki, sits at her at loom and gazes intently at the strands in front of her. She can easily pick out the threads of herself and her family, and as always, there is one more strand than there should be, tightly interwoven with the line of her younger son. From the day that Loki’s thread intersected with theirs, this bright thread has been there, darting in and out of Loki’s life but consistently there through the centuries.

And Frigga doesn’t know to whom the thread belongs. They are shrouded even from her Sight, and neither Odin nor Heimdallr have made mention of a presence in Loki’s life, someone who interacts with Loki often but _only_ with Loki. Frigga knows the threads of most, if not all, the people of Asgard, and this thread echoes the presence of Asgard but not _quite_. It is not of any of the other realms, either. It stretches far into the future with her son's thread.

She is bound by her Oath. She cannot talk of what she sees, no matter how much she may wish to.

But she can take comfort that the bright thread only helps Loki bloom. He doesn’t play much with others, but he never seems as lonely as she feared he might become when Thor found several friends of his own. Sometimes, he shows an aptitude for magic that she wasn’t aware he had, and he slyly grins when she’s startled at his unexpected ability but he still eagerly accepts all magic that she shows to him. He is gentle and kind and still the child that she accepted from Odin all those years ago.

Frigga will watch and wait for now, carefully monitoring the thread and her son, but she won’t do anything because whoever is represented by the thread has only helped her son, been kind to him. They haven’t harmed him in any way.

(Yet.)

 

“Thor’s friends are all terribly dull,” little Loki complains petulantly, storming into his chambers and throwing himself rather melodramatically on his bed. Loki, sprawled out in a chair and reading (editing) one of his otherself’s magic texts, glances up and meets little Loki’s eyes but doesn’t say anything, a silent invitation for him to continue.

A moment, and then it all comes gushing out.

“All they care about is fighting and wooing maidens and going on pointless trips around Asgard!” little Loki spits, lanky form tensing up. “They’ve all awful manners and they never sit still – I’m not sure any of them have read a full book in their _lives_ – and even when I spar with them like they want to they get mad at me because I use magic but _Mother_ uses magic, you and Mother _taught_ me magic, it can be used in battle and it’s not cheating, it’s _not_ , thye're just mad because I keep winning spars, it's not _my_ fault they can't tell when I'm using illusions, and – and it's not fair, because Thor spends all his time with them n-now,” and little Loki’s gulping back tears now, “and h-he never has time for me anymore a-and I think that they all h- _hate_ me.” He’s hiccupping  and crying and breaks eye contact with Loki, curling up in a miserable ball in the center of his bed.

Loki closes his book and gets up, crossing little Loki’s chamber to sit on the edge of the bed. They stay in silence for a time, until little Loki stops shaking with the effort of choking back sobs and simply lies there, his back to Loki.

“He doesn’t hate you,” Loki says softly. He wants to pull little Loki into his lap, to stroke his head as he did with his own children, to give him the comfort he deserves, but he’s suddenly realizing that maybe staying around his little otherself so much has harmed the child more than he could ever have suspected. “He has some new friends now, but that doesn’t matter in the long run, because you’ll always be his brother. He could _never_ hate you. He loves you too much.”

Little Loki sniffles but doesn’t turn over.

Loki sighs. “This is probably my fault,” he says, and the honesty tastes bitter on his tongue. There is a stillness from his otherself. “I’ve kept you to myself,” he confesses, “always drawing you back to your chambers instead of letting you be out there making friends or playing with your brother. I’m a secret that you’re always concealing and I’ve _forced_ you to keep it for nearly six hundred years. Never let you tell anyone, did I…? Not even Thor. Not even when you begged me.”

He stands, makes himself not look at the child lying behind him. He abruptly feels very old, and guilty, and he misses his own children. 

(He held on too tightly, because he overlaid little Loki with his children, his children who were taken from him, and at some point the little counter in his head ticked up from _six children_ to _seven children_ and he didn’t even notice, but this isn’t healthy for little Loki. This isn’t what the child needs.)

(But by the Norns, he doesn’t want to leave little Loki.)

“I’m so terribly selfish,” he laughs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, Loki.”

Little Loki rolls over, but he’s already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, this chapter was kicking my butt and there were other places later in the fic that I really wanted to write so I wrote those first instead of working on this chapter. Oops. But now I've got those scenes mostly out of my system and I have an idea of what I want to do with the next chapter (unlike what happened with this chapter, which is kind of crazy and all over the place, sorry).


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